Get On Your Feet
by Dragon Elexus
Summary: Lars tries to come to terms with his new normal.


**Content Note:** This story has some Lars grappling with anxiety and internalized ableism.

 **Get On Your Feet**

Lars was pretty sure he should be freaking out.

He was underground on an alien planet, in a cavern that looked like something of a nightmarish horror manga. He had died, and there was a very good chance he might die again. That he might never get home, never even _see_ home again, never see Mom or Dad or Sadie or Buck or…

But he wasn't freaking out. He was just sitting there, back against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest, watching. Casually watching everything, like he was lounging outside Fish Stew Pizza.

The Rutile twins were sitting in a hole a few feet above him, engaged in hushed but rapid conversation. Lars tried not to listen in— not only would that be kinda rude, it was hard following them when they talked like that, completing each other sentences or just not bothering to finish them at all, having already figured out what the other was going to say.

Flourite was lying on her side a ways away, eyes closed, quietly humming to herself. A couple of her legs waved gently to the beat.

It wasn't Lars' style of music at all (there was something else he might never get to do— listen to his favourite bands), but it was still pretty, in a gentle, quiet sort of way. Fluorite was a beautiful singer. That slow way of talking disappeared entirely when she sung, and it seemed as if a whole chorus of voices radiated out from her, in perfect harmony. Lars couldn't help but bob his head along.

Padparadscha was singing along too. Admittedly, her singing was delayed, coming a good fifteen seconds behind Fluorite's, but that actually sounded kinda nice too. Wasn't there a term for that? Lars tried to stretch his brain back to music classes. When singers came in at different times… music in the round, or something?

The last of the odd group, Rhodonite, was dancing. She traded a slow, circular pattern on the bare ground, something that would'a looked like a waltz, if only she'd had a partner. But she didn't seem to mind dancing alone. Fact, she looked calmer than Lars had ever seen her. Her bottom set of hands help the top one as she spun, her smile bright and serene.

Lars was pretty sure he should be freaking out.

A pink zombie surrounded by a singing centipede, conjoined-twins, some multi-armed mutant, and a backwards psychic. Sooner or later, Steven would come back, hopefully with reinforcements, and they'd be planning an escape attempt from a hostile alien planet. He should be hiding at the back of a hole, crying for his Mommy.

He'd cried over less, after all. Been petrified by the thought of just talking to a stranger. So terrified about an upcoming project that he'd just ended up surfing the internet for hours and hours and hours and never even starting it. His parents suggesting ' _Maybe we should try therapy_ ', and yelling and storming away and locking himself in his room for an entire long weekend.

But just now, he felt perfectly calm.

He wondered if that was something Steven had done to him. The guy's magic had healed his cracked skull an internal bleeding. Maybe he'd somehow banished that horrible anxiety for good. Sounded kinda unbelievable, but his whole life was unbelievable right now.

Or maybe it was something simpler. Lars has always kinda sucked at biology, as years and years of report cards could attest too, but he'd still picked up some things. Panic, the flight or fight response— that was controlled by the heart, right? At least partially. The heart beat fast, and that made the body pump out adrenaline and stuff.

Lars pressed his fingers to his wrist for about the twentieth time that day (or however long it had been since he'd risen from the dead). He waited. _Ba…. dump… Ba…. dump….. Ba….. dump…._

Yeah. With a heartbeat that slow, maybe he wasn't physically _capable_ of freaking out anymore.

Or maybe he'd just… moved beyond being afraid. That after being kidnapped, shipped across space, kept in a cell, put on trial in front of crazy lightning queens, smuggled to safety by an underground resistance, and fought killer robots, he'd just run straight through all the fear his brain could make.

He turned his attention back to the music. Rhodonite had gotten a dance partner, after all. Padparadscha was holding her by the lower set of hands, and the pair of them were gliding gracefully around each other. Rhodonite made sure to follow a nice, simple pattern that repeated every ten seconds, so it didn't matter if Pad was out of synch.

He smiled.

Or maybe— maybe— the simple fact was that he just felt more comfortable surrounded by a bunch of friendly freaks than he'd ever been at home.

Maybe that made him crazy. Whatever. He'd been crazy his whole life. He could live with it.

"Human Lars," Padparadscha said, smiling at him. "Come and join us!"

"What? Me?" Lars said, as if there was anyone else.

"Yes. I… think… you'd… enjoy it," Fluorite said, breaking momentarily from her singing.

Lars shifted uncomfortably on his butt. "I… don't know how to dance."

"That's alright," Rhodonite said. She held her head high. "I'll teach ya. I'm a _great_ dancer."

There was a gentle, nudging hand on Lars' shoulder. He looked up to see the Rutiles out of their hole, pushing him to join. "Go on," said one.

"If we're going to be fighting soon, some dance practice might be useful," said the second.

Well. That was the weirdest non-sequitur Lars had ever heard in his life.

But he shrugged. What the heck?

So Lars got up and joined the dance.


End file.
